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He’s right. It wasn’t his fault. She did come out of nowhere. But why Sean? Why him? And why am I so irrationally angry right now?
“Is she okay?” he asks dumbly.
“The baby,” I gasp, wrapping my hand in my dress shirt and jerking the door open. The sting of heat scorches my skin through the fabric. “Call an ambulance.”
“She looks dead,” Sean blurts, obviously in shock. “I can’t go to jail. I don’t want to go to jail. Jesus.”
That’s what he is thinking about right now? Going to jail? Kathleen’s life is over. Mine, too. And the baby’s. Please, please don’t let it be the baby.
I have so much to say.
I say nothing.
Sean turns around, looking at me. He is pale as a ghost. “This wouldn’t have happened if she’d dated me. You hurt her, Mal. You did this. It’s all your fault.”
Kathleen is dead.
But the baby is not.
“It was a close call, Mr. Doherty. You are blessed,” the doctors say.
Yeah, I snort. I fecking feel blessed.
I look down at the small, purple thing. Only reason I don’t cry is because someone needs to look in charge.
I’m sorry, little one. So terribly much.
Kathleen was wrong all along.
It isn’t a boy.
It’s a girl, and she looks just like both of us.
All I can think when I look at her is not all the things I gained, or all the things I lost in the past year.
But how all of them are connected to Rory.
How she ruined everything.
And how badly I want to ruin her.
Present
Rory
“May I help you?” the little girl asks from the doorway, her voice honey sweet and soft. She has the most glorious hair. Deep brown, but not quite as dark as her father’s.
Her. Father’s.
See also: My husband.
See also: The man who hid the truth about his daughter from me.
That was one of the first things I asked him when we met in New York again, when he threw his marriage to Kathleen in my face.
“Children?”
“No.”
He didn’t even hesitate. The answer was flat, like the void behind his pretty eyes. But there’s no way this kid is anyone else’s. She is a perfect blend of Kathleen and Mal. Suddenly, I’m hit with the awful, complicated truth. He kept this secret from me, even after he married me. His true family was something he never planned to share. He didn’t trust me enough to tell me he was a father. He thought I’d leave him if I found out, if he ever did care enough about us to want me to stay.
I wouldn’t leave a single father. But I sure as hell would dump a compulsive, dirty liar.
All the times he disappeared. The birthday party. The glitter. The tiny, fake diamond earring tucked between grass blades in the backyard. The rush to head back to Tolka when we were in Greece. All because of his baby girl.
A mixture of anger, frustration, and overwhelming protectiveness toward this kid, who never knew her mother, swirls in my stomach. And guilt. So much guilt, for a reason I cannot pinpoint right now.
I offer her a little wave.
Say something. Anything. You are probably freaking her out.
“Um, hi?”
Not that, you idiot.
“You look like a princess.” She giggles, covering her little mouth.
How old is she? I’m guessing seven at most. Maybe six. Jesus, this cuts it close to the entire napkin ordeal. Is it possible she was conceived that soon after I left?
“That’s because I am.” I plant my fists on my waist.
“You are?” Her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets.
“Well, kind of. My name is Aurora Belle. I came here because I heard there’s another princess living in this village—a prettier one I must meet. Guess I found her.” A lopsided grin appears on my face.
She chuckles with delight, cupping one of her cheeks to hide her blush. My heart squeezes in my chest. Her smile is dimpled. Neither Mal nor Kathleen had dimples. They were probably given to her by the almighty, to remind her she should smile despite her circumstances.
“You came to the wrong address. I’m no princess; I’m just Tamsin.”
Tamsin.
“Tamsin! Yes! That’s the girl I was looking for.” I produce my planner from my backpack, opening to a random page and nodding vehemently. “Yup. There you are. Princess Tamsin of Tolka. Everybody is talking about you back in our kingdom. They say you are the sweetest, kindest princess in all of Ireland.”
If she could burst glitter right now, she would. She jumps up and down, clapping her hands, and that’s when I realize what she is wearing: cowboy boots, a little leather jacket like her daddy’s, and a pink dress. Her sense of style is all over the place. I like that so much about her. And I hate her dad so much right now for not giving me enough credit to know I could easily love her.
